Page 67 of The Difference Between

And then . . . there’s her smile—it’s a great damn smile. A smile that makes me think for a split second that this world is the most perfect place there is.

Like the traitor my mother is, she’s already walking toward them. Since her risk of exhaustion, dizziness, or collapse is real, I have no choice but to follow.

In his driveway, Gavin looks like Gavin—T-shirt, jeans, boots, hat, charming smile hidden beneath that scraggly beard—and Addie is wearing denim overalls and red T-shirt with her hair in a ponytail.

“Hi, Miss Reese.” Addie looks at me like I’m the only thing she wants to see. “Uncle Gav had to work this morning.”

“Hi yourself,” I say, feeling less awkward than the first day we met. “He’s busy, huh?”

We both look at him and he grins, twirling his keys around his middle finger. “Somebody’s gotta keep the freezer filled with pizzas.”

Addie pushes the bridge of her glasses. “I love pizza.”

“Reese likes pineapple on her pizza,” Mom says with a disgusted face that makes Addie laugh.

The two of them talk pizza, and I stuff my hands in the back pockets of my cutoff shorts, observing them, but mostly Addie. She’s animated. Everything she’s feeling shows up on her face. She’d be terrible at contract negotiations, but I can’t help but smile at every move she makes. The way her eyes widen then narrow, the way her mouth opens then splits her face with a grin.

Gavin steps next to me, close but not touching, neither of us saying anything as we face the two of them. Our silence turns awkward. Then funny. When I look at him, he’s fighting a smile.

“Miss Reese,” he says.

I glance his way. “You win last night?”

He licks his lips. “Not the way I wanted to.”

Not touching that one.

Mom and Addie inspect a rosebush in her yard, and my aloneness with Gavin paired with our proximity fucks with my biology. It’s another hot day without a hint of a breeze, but goose bumps ripple over my skin just the same.

“I’m surprised the city has you working on Saturday mornings,” I say. He’s devoid of his typical grass and grime. He’s a little sweaty but nowhere near as dirty as I’ve seen him. “You work every weekend?”

He nods, scuffing his toe in the gravel of the driveway. “Most Saturday mornings and Wednesday evenings.” His head teeters. “At least until the shop’s gone.” He blows out a breath. “We’ll see what happens then.”

It makes sense he picks up extra hours. Between his modest wage and all the hours he wasn’t paid for at the vineyard, money’s probably tight. But the shop . . . not sure where that comes in.

“Your mom’s records show you paid them for the property.”

He nods. “I did. Just never jumped through the legal hoops to get it in my name.”

I already knew that, of course.

I squint at the yard. “My boss wanted me to talk to you about back pay for all the unpaid hours you logged at the vineyard. Worried about a lawsuit popping up from some disgruntled former employee, you know?”

“Sue because I helped my parents take care of their property?” He barks out a laugh. “Tell ’em to keep it.”

“What?” I don’t get this. Him. At all. He doesn’t make much money even though he works hard—really hard if he’s picking up weekend hours that require him storing city equipment in his building. He has a kid with special needs. Lost his dad. Money like this would change things for him. Make life easier. “You could use that money to go to school,” I say. “Get a better job.”

He shakes his head but his smile stays. “I don’t need the money, Reese. Or want a better job.”

Who the hell thinks that way?

“Plus,” he adds, “I went to school.”

“For what?” The question comes out as disbelieving as I am.

“Well . . .” His face twists and he rubs his chin. “I didn’t finish.”

“What? Why?”